Prospects
by erika red
Summary: What if Bobby and Alex met before they were partners? Each time they meet, their relationship grows stronger. Fourth mini-chapter up.
1. What Your Soul Sings

_What if...? This fic is truly random, and i can't even begin to explain my inspiration for it. Well, i can, but i don't want to. ;D Enjoy, and please R&R. -erika_

_---------_

Alex sat down at the tiny table in the back of the crowded diner. Her dad sat across from her and smiled, wrinkles crinkling around his eyes. She popped open the menu, and shifted. She was full of energy and agitated, and not even slightly hungry. She ran her fingers through her hair as she looked through the menu.

"What do I want? I'm so indecisive. What are you having?"

"Meat loaf dinner, I think." Her dad had folded himself into the chair, looking a bit oversized for the tiny table. Alex herself fit neatly and compactly into the booth. She curled her legs next to her and frowned at the menu.

Their waiter, a tall, dark haired kid approached, with a handful of silverware and some napkins. He placed knives and spoons, and gave alex a fork, then frowned at her dad's fork and walked away with it. Alex smiled, and her dad glanced over his shoulder in puzzlement.

"Your fork was dirty," She whispered in a Boston accent. (Your fock was dahty). Her dad chuckled at the old family joke. The kid returned, and placed another fork at her dad's place. As his sleeve pulled up, she noticed purple bruises. She glanced up at his face and noticed more bruises. He kept his eyes down, and hurried away again.

When he came back with two glasses of water, he knelt next to them, and was still tall enough to meet their eyes.

"I'll have the meat loaf special and a coke." Her dad folded his menu and sat back.

The kid met her eyes, and raised his brow. It wasn't a normal waiter look, though. It was questioning, all right, but it wasn't a "what will you have?" but more like a "who are you?" sort of look.

"Ah.. tuna on rye.." She watched him write it down, slowly, almost painfully. He looked up at her again, but this time all his expression said was "and..?"

"Anything else?"

"Coke." She smiled slightly.

"Weird kid," Her dad muttered once he'd walked away. Alex shrugged.

"Hey Bobby! Hurry up, table six!" Someone shouted from the kitchen.

"So you're moving into the city."

"Yeah." Alex played with her fork. "Hopefully." She sighed and looked up at her dad.

"Well, what kind of a job are you thinking of getting?"

"I dunno. I just want a job that .. means something, you know? I want to work with people who challenge me and inspire me." She frowned. "I want something that uses all of my skills. Something creative, something ... something that requires logic." She shook her head. "I guess advertising kind of does that. You have to put together ideas at a fast pace, and sell them.. I could do that. Plus, I'd have to work weird hours... and I'm definitely good at that."

"Well, it's for you to figure out. You're going to have your associate's degree soon."

"Yeah."

The kid popped up behind her dad's shoulder and put two soda's in front of them, then ducked away.

"You could work for the newspaper. Get an internship or something. They're looking for new blood."

"Lovely."

"You could take pictures or write. Who knows. I'm sure they can use you for something."

"I feel like a super hero trying to find a cover job." She sipped her soda.

"The _Times_ is hiring."

"What about the _Daily Planet_?"

"Ha. Ha. You could always check out city hall. Nothing wrong with government jobs."

"As long as they pay real money, I'm not too picky."

----

He watched her laugh, then ducked his head when she looked up at him. He could feel her eyes following him even as she talked to.. he had to be her dad. Her sweatshirt was zipped halfway, and she wore a blue/gray scoop neck shirt with a little ribbon bow in the center, just above her cleavage. She wore a simple necklace with a bead or something that fit perfectly in that little hollow of her neck. _Clavicle. _He thought. _What an ugly word for such a beautiful place. _He watched her smile. Someone put money in the jukebox, and suddenly the Boxtops were playing _The Letter. _

_"Lonely days are gone, I'm a goin' home, my baby just a wrote me a letter..."_

He grabbed the tip off a table and crumpled it into the pocket of his apron.

"Bobby! Eyes on the prize, c'mon man!"

He shoved the swinging door with more force than necessary and stormed back into the kitchen.

----

"We gotta get going. See if you can get his attention."

"I'm trying, he won't look at me." Alex peered over her father's shoulder, trying to catch the kid's eye, but he deliberately avoided her gaze.

As he took the order from the table next to them, her dad gently tapped his arm.

"S'cuse me, could we get the check?"

"Uh.. sure.." He held a crumpled check as the people at the other table asked him another question. Finally, he laid it down, and walked away.

"I thought I was gonna have to snatch it from him."

"Mm."

_"She wrote me a letter saying she couldn't live without me no more.."_

----

"That kid is not cut out to wait tables."

"Eh. Maybe not, but don't be too hard on him. Looks like someone gave him a good beating." Alex shivered in the cold winter air.

"Mm. He looked at everything _except _you. I couldn't believe it. Definitely not a good waiter."

"Yeah... well, food service isn't for everyone."

----

Bobby pulled his tips out of the apron pocket, and shoved them in the pocket of his jeans. He untied the apron, and balled it up, handing it to his boss.

"What the hell is this?"

"I quit."

"You just fucking started, Goren."

"And now I'm quitting."

"What the hell are you gonna do? I know you got a nut of a mom to look out for."

The kid had the greasy man up against the tile wall of the kitchen, his arm pressed against his neck -- not hard, but firmly enough to scare him.

"Don't talk about my mom."

"What'd she do to you, anyway?" The man overcame his fear and ran his beady eyes over the kid's bruised face.

"I said _shut up." _But he let him go, anyway.

The little greasy man laughed nervously. "Fine, get outta here. Lousy fuckin' waiter anyway. I was just doing your brother a favor when I hired you. But where you gonna go now, huh?"

The next day, he enlisted. He wanted to challenge himself. He wanted to work with people who inspired him. He wanted all of the things that girl had been talking about, but mostly, he wanted to go to college so that maybe, somehow, he'd be on the same level as her, and she'd look at him as more than a bad waiter. She'd looked at him, though, in that instant he'd made eye contact with her. He could have sworn he answered his question, and asked him one back.

"I'm Alex. Who are _you?" _It was a challenge. He took it.

_Fin. Please R&R._


	2. Protection

_I finally thought of a way to continue this. Please R&R if you like._

* * *

Five years later. Alex was living in a rent controlled building in the upper east side. Her neighbors no doubt assumed she was a call girl, given how she dressed on her way to work each day. Work. She sighed as she tightened the laces on her shoes, saddle shoes with four inch heels. She grabbed her red leather jacket and her keys, feeling for her badge out of habit. It was safely tucked inside the back waist of her tight ripped jeans.

She pressed the button for the elevator, and stared hard at a guy in her building who couldn't keep himself from staring at the white t-shirt that stretched tightly between her breasts. Breasts that were benefitting unnecessarily from a slightly padded bra. He blushed and stuttered a greeting.

On her way out, she ran into her landlord. She grinned.

"Hey, Max. How's it going?"  
"Alex! It's been too long. You never come to see me."  
"Working, you know how it is."  
"I do. I keep meaning to ask Joe if he wants to go hit a few golf balls around one weekend."  
"I'll let him know. I don't think we're busy this weekend."  
"Yeah, thank you. How are you doing? Did you get that promotion?"  
"Soon... soon, I hope." She grinned. "It's my day off today, but I'm still obligated to dress the part." She tugged self consciously at her shirt.  
"You got too much talent to be stuck in vice much longer. Maybe they'll give you something undercover. Patience is the key. Nothing ever happens fast in the NYPD."

Max was a retired cop. Actually, he was a retired just about everything. Alex had never met anyone who'd done so many things and dabbled in so many industries. The elevator opened behind them, and a tall, dark haired man in a suit stepped out. His dark eyes met hers and held them.

"Hey, doc! How's it going?" Max greeted the man.  
"Alright, Max. How are you?" He reluctantly broke his gaze and turned to Max.  
"Doing good, man."  
"Good. I'll catch you later."

Alex's head whipped around, following him out, even as Max picked up their conversation.

* * *

He'd been half awake, having rolled out of bed twenty minutes after his alarm had gone off. Not bothering to shave, he'd showered fast, and dressed faster. When the doors opened, he'd seen her. She was standing in profile, her long blond hair cascading down her back, slightly damp as if she just hadn't bothered to finish drying it completely. She was wearing a short red leather jacket, but it didn't cover her breasts entirely. Tight ripped blue jeans hugged her ass, and her long legs were exaggerated by four inch heels. She turned and he stared into the eyes of the woman who had inspired him to join the military.

This girl - woman now - was the reason he was here. He was on his way to meet with Dr. Gage, who was in New York for the day. Dr. Gage, the mentor and genius who had been training him since they met in South Korea a few years earlier. He managed to slip by her, but he felt her intense gaze follow him out the door. When he looked back, she had turned away to resume her conversation with Max.

Did she live here, in his building? How was that possible? He'd never seen her here before. Maybe she was looking for an apartment. But it sounded like Max knew her. Maybe she worked nearby, or was a personal friend. His mind raced over the possible explanations for her presence. Maybe she was supposed to be here. Maybe this was... he pushed the thought out of his head before it could even finish itself. If he went down that road, he could never come back. Immediately, he thought of his mother and a pang of guilt twisted his gut.

He glanced at his watch and jogged towards the subway.

* * *

It was months later when they saw each other again. It was on the elevator, a chance encounter. She was wearing a purple minidress and stockings, ripped at the knees where bloody scrapes were starting to heal. Perfect makeup except for the mascara that had created sooty circles under her eyes. Her breasts seemed unsupported, yet gravity defiant, pushing against the thin fabric of her dress. Black patent shoes with thick sturdy high heels were scuffed. She looked every inch the hooker, but not. There was something off. Something sensual, something powerful in her small frame. She didn't even look up at him, but he knew that if she wanted to, if she needed to, she'd summon the strength necessary to do whatever needed to be done. It was oddly comforting.

"Your knee..." he pointed to her left knee which was slightly puffy. "It's swollen. Did you hit something when you fell?"  
"Besides the ground?" She looked up at him, annoyed, then froze, her gaze transformed from irritation to surprise. She covered it quickly. "Yeah, I hit the curb, just under that kneecap." She was leaning against the wall of the elevator for support.  
"You should freeze alcohol mixed with water. It will stay soft enough so you won't irritate your knee, but cold enough to numb it."  
"Thanks." She stood gingerly as the doors opened on her floor.  
"Here, let me help you."  
"I'm okay, thanks," She replied automatically.

He gently placed his hand on the small of her back and rather than be alarmed by the unexpectedly intimate gesture, she let him support her weight as they walked toward her door.

"Thank you." She smiled shyly.  
"Any time." He turned away, then back, awkwardly, "Have a nice night."  
"You too." She fumbled with her keys and unlocked the door. As it closed, he heard her muffled greeting to someone inside.

* * *

_More? Please R&R!_


	3. Angel

_I'm on a roll tonight... this thing is just telling itself. Please R&R if you enjoy it._

* * *

Bobby knocked on the door, and walked in. Max looked up and smiled. "Bobby! How you doing, doc?"

Bobby laughed modestly at the nickname. It had come about as a result of a slight misunderstanding, or maybe a deliberate one. He'd mentioned his work with Dr. Gage - not by name, just in passing. Max had assumed that he was interning under a doctor in hopes of following the same path.

"I'm alright. How've you been, man?"  
"Ahh, you know how it is. This and that," Max waved his hand, and leaned back in his office chair.

His office was built like a basement bunker, even though it wasn't. Max, in addition to being a jack of all trades, was also passionate about technology. Computers, TVs, stereos and VCRs lined the walls. Bobby would assume something illegal was going on if it weren't for the obvious fact that all were used and well-loved, no doubt by Max.

"I have kind of an odd question for you," Bobby said, fingering the buttons on his overcoat.  
"Have a seat. Do you want some coffee?"  
"No, thanks." He sat.  
"So what's on your mind?"  
"A tenant ... I think her name is Alex --"  
"Alex! Yes, Alex and Joe. Nice couple - nice people. She's a cop."  
"She's... She's a cop." Bobby paused, thoughtful. "I had... I had met her on the elevator a few months ago. She'd busted her knee, no doubt while on duty."  
"Probably," Max laughed. "She's a tough cookie, that one. I'll bet good money the other guy was worse."  
Bobby smiled and nodded. "I found an earring after she got off the elevator, and I think it was hers. I haven't seen her around, and I was wondering how I could return it."  
"Well, she and Joe moved out a few months ago. Joe's undercover, and she got transferred to Chelsea."  
"It's not any of my business, but how were they affording this place?"  
Max smiled sheepishly. "I charged 'em the bare minimum. Nice kids like them, I wanted to give 'em a break."  
"You'd think they'd wanna hang onto this place."  
"They were stuck with a one bedroom. A couple like that, I think they want to start a family. My bosses would notice if I gave them a good deal on a two bedroom. You want me to send them that earring?"  
"Yeah. I have it up in my apartment. I'll get it to you. Thanks, Max."

* * *

  
What were the odds of that. He played with the earring, rolling it between his fingers and watching the glass beads spin back and forth. The truth was, he hadn't really found it on the elevator. It had come undone when she'd been leaning against him for support the night he'd helped her to her apartment. It was stupid, to obsess this much over a stranger. The problem was that she wasn't much of a stranger anymore. But, he had to remind himself, he was probably a stranger to her.

She'd recognized him, though. He was sure of it. Even the first night they'd met, she'd seen through the greasy veneer of dumb teenage waiter, she'd seen him. And, if he wanted to get really unsettlingly honest, he'd seen her. It was uncomfortably intimate. Uncomfortably irrational. It was a fantasy, one he couldn't afford to indulge.

He put the earring down, and stared at the piece of paper he'd taken out. It had been folded up, crumpled up at some point, then carefully smoothed out. He'd written her name, just Alex. And in newer ink, he'd written "Chelsea." He underlined it hard, almost hard enough to rip through the paper. He folded it up hastily and shoved it back in its drawer.

He stood up abruptly and grabbed his coat. When he came back 5 hours later, he was drunk and smelled like sex. He fell into bed, still mostly dressed, and sank into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

  
Alex didn't even know his name. She rolled over, staring at the dim glow in the dark numbers on the clock next to their bed. She groaned softly. It was almost four in the morning. Joe was breathing steadily next to her, and occasionally let out a soft snore. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Why was she obsessing about this? Some random guy on an elevator. Who cared? Why did she care? She quietly got out of bed and padded, barefoot into the living room. She opened the drawer of her desk and groped in the dark to the back of it. Wadded into the corner was the soft handkerchief she kept there. He'd given it to her for her bleeding knees, and she'd never returned it. She didn't know where he lived, and was too chicken to ask the landlord.

She pulled it out and smelled it. It still smelled faintly like him, a mixture of tobacco, old spice and man. This was stupid, she chided herself guiltily. A small panic seized her - this was insane. She was happily married, it didn't make any sense. Why did she even have the stupid thing? It was still stained with old brown blood in one spot. She shoved the thing back into the corner of her drawer, and climbed back into bed, snuggling against Joe.

Sleepily, he wrapped his strong arms around her, and she fell asleep against the steady beating of his heart.

* * *

  
It was only four years later when an identical handkerchief was pressed into her hand. Identical, except for the blood stain, of course. It was a brutally cold winter day, the kind of cold that made you feel like you'd had the air knocked out of you every time you breathed. Alex just felt numb.

A part of her felt desperate to open the casket that was being slowly coated in a light powder of snow that flurried over the gathering. It was too cold. Too lifeless. Death had never seemed more complete or all-consuming. The air was oppressive. She couldn't breathe. Tears stung her eyes and one managed to escape, hot and salty, down her cold cheek. She felt dizzy, like she was going to faint or float away. Up and up, away from here, away from this.

Joe's mother was sobbing silently next to her, her small frame shaking like a leaf in a storm. Alex wanted to reach out and hold her, keep her from being torn from her branch and swept away in grief, but she was doing all she could to hang on herself. She heard a faint shriek, the kind of collective gasp that happens when something unexpected or surprising happens. But she wasn't concerned. Her dizzy nausea was replaced with a peaceful nothingness.

When she woke up in the relative warmth of the church, her mother in law was pushing a paper cup of hot tea towards her. Concerned family and friends were gathered around, and she had a handkerchief clutched in her right hand. In a fog, she stared at the handkerchief. It was familiar, and puzzling. How had it gotten here? Why was she holding it? She pressed it up to her mouth and smelled it.

The sharp sweet scent was fresh and intense. She remembered the elevator, and her knee, and Joe. New tears filled her eyes and threatened to overflow. She became gradually aware of the concerned group of people around her. Any other time, she would have been embarrassed, but nothing could really touch her. Her grief was complete. Everything outside of it was muted and inconsequential.

"I never saw anyone faint before,"  
"It's lucky that officer was next to her, or she could have hit her head."  
"I know someone who got concussed and died. That would have been horrible." The speaker's voice cracked.  
"Do you know who he was? Was he a relative or a friend of the family? I was trying to find him and get him a plate of food,"  
"I dunno, I never saw him before. Probably just another cop paying his respects."

Alex couldn't register what was being said, and the why's and how's of her situation were once again irrelevant since she had remembered the reason for why they were in a church in the first place. She sat, staring out at nothing, her eyes vacant, over bright with unshed tears that occasionally overflowed and slid silently into her lap. She twisted the handkerchief, crumpling it hard in her fist, hanging onto it like it was her only grip left.


	4. Dissolved Girl

_Mini chapter to get you ready for the next installment. Please please please R&R! I love getting feedback._

_

* * *

_When she returned to work, she wasn't the same. Her irreverence was gone. Joe's death had transformed her, the hard way, into a full-grown woman. The charm and innocence she'd had were no longer a part of her, or if they were, they were safe guarded somewhere deep inside.

What she'd had with Joe could never be replaced. It could never be duplicated, reopened or revisited. She'd had it and lost it. The parts of her that had been brutally ripped out were replaced, slowly, with a steely strength, and something dark, something calculating and patient.

In times of tragedy, people cope differently. Alex's method of coping was to retreat deep inside herself, and let that dark, patient thing take over. The thing that was too powerful to be given reign most of the time. The thing that could do anything, be anything, anyone. It was the thing that flipped any confrontation on its head, and calmly, if silently, informed everyone that what they thought they knew was wrong. This thing that could make grown men stutter and tremble when she fixed them with one look.

* * *

  
He had fled. He'd wanted to give her a handkerchief for her tears when she collapsed. He'd just been in the right place at the right moment, and caught her. Once they'd gotten her inside, he disappeared, hightailing it to the closest dive bar to drink himself into a temporary amnesia. Guilt shot through him, twisting cruelly. He'd never, ever wanted this. And how arrogant of him to think it mattered.

He couldn't forget how he'd wished, from time to time, that he had gotten to her first. How did their lives keep intersecting, but never at the right moment? What was the right moment? Why did they keep meeting? It seemed like a cruel cosmic joke, meant to torture him by forcing him to witness the love and hope of this woman destroyed. But that wasn't true, he reminded himself. It was that chance meeting at the diner, so many years ago. He was inspired to be like her, to meet her again, and consciously or not, that's what he did.

It was a slightly calculated coincidence and a lot of random chance that conspired to push the two of them together. Nothing more, and nothing less.

* * *

  
Two years later, their paths would cross again.


End file.
